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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007600">Moderately memorable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaters_in_the_summer/pseuds/sweaters_in_the_summer'>sweaters_in_the_summer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Twyla's Cafe Tropical, s07e04 Twyla's Cafe Tropical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:08:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaters_in_the_summer/pseuds/sweaters_in_the_summer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Twyla's Cafe Tropical is undergoing renovations, and our boys are having all the feels about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Season 7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Moderately memorable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>704 - Twyla starts the slow renovation of the cafe and at first David is excited, because it's gross and she asks him for advice on making it still have the theme and character but be less gross, but then he starts to realize that by helping he's erasing the backdrop of so many of his memories, especially of his life with Patrick.</p><p>Patrick has been quietly sad about it himself, but keeping it from David because David was initially so excited. When he realizes they are both struggling, he gets Twyla to let them in after hours for one last slow dance in the middle of the floor, and one last meal at the booth that housed their first date and their wedding planning.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>David leaned across the counter at Rose Apothecary, squinting at the windows. It was hard to see what was going on over the road with all the plants in the way. Walking over to the door and getting a better look was certainly an option, but David was feeling lazy. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible </span>
  </em>
  <span>the cookie he had with lunch was causing some kind of post-lunch slump. A sugar crash. So stupid. And it was nice and warm in the store. He rested his chin in his hand as his eyelids drooped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before his head hit the counter, Patrick strode out of the back room, pushing the curtain aside and swatting his husband on the butt before taking a place next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on at the cafe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was met with silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David’s head suddenly popped up as he took a deep breath. “Oh my god! I just dozed off for a second.” He turned to Patrick and blinked. “Did you say something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, David. I said you should have had a handful of nuts after lunch, not a cookie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David snorted. “Nice try. Like that’d ever happen. What did you really say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just wondering what was going on across the street.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nodded slowly and yawned. “Yeah, I was wondering too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick walked over to the front door and opened it, letting in a cool breeze to rouse David. “Oh. I think that van belongs to one of Ronnie’s subcontractors. Says something about demo on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Like people are going to do cooking demonstrations there? God help us all. Though I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” David voice trailed off as he envisioned different food at the cafe. A dreamy look passed over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick chuckled. “No, David. Like ‘demolition.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, it’s about time,” David retorted. “Though I hope they aren’t like, knocking the whole thing down.” David’s mind raced at the thought of the cafe being gone. While his coffee situation was handled with the espresso machine they finally had, where was he going to get muffins? And he did like to get coffee occasionally from the cafe, if only to continue to support local businesses. This was terrible! With no cafe, Rose Apothecary wouldn’t have nearly as much foot traffic!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, Patrick was able to see this entire spiral on his husband’s face, as clearly as if it was playing on a giant screen. He walked back over to the counter and wrapped his arms around David, resting his cheek on David’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David. We are fine. We have our online sales. And I seriously doubt the cafe will close entirely.” He squeezed his arms around David. “It’s the only restaurant in town!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David turned around and looked at him skeptically, but at least he seemed a tad calmer. “I’ll go talk to Twyla later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds sensible. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves too much. Whoever’s van that is, maybe they’re just getting lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David hummed. The bell tinkled, signaling a customer. As he walked over to the bath salts to help them out, he glanced out the window again, wincing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nearly dark by the time they were locking the doors to Rose Apothecary and heading across the street for dinner. They didn’t eat meals there very much anymore, but David was adamant that they get the story from Twyla as soon as humanly possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they slid into their booth (and in David’s mind it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>booth forever and always, ever since his fateful birthday meal) Patrick caught Twyla’s eye and beckoned her over with his head. It wasn’t too busy in the cafe, and he noticed there was some tape on the floor that he hadn’t noticed before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys! What can I get you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David looked at her, standing at their table with a notepad in her hand and a wide smile on her face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her without some kind of smile on her face. On most people, he’d find that unbelievably creepy, but somehow it worked on Twyla. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t really ready to order,” Patrick replied. David turned his head to look at his husband inquiringly. Was Patrick trying to torture him? Deny him his basic human right to moderately edible food? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just bring us over two cheeseburgers with fries,” David interrupted. Twyla nodded, not even bothering to write down the order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” David replied. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twyla’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with the demo company that was here today? And why are there lines of tape all over the floor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile back in full force, she leaned towards the table and lowered her voice. “Wow, you guys are like detectives! You’re making me really excited about the next murder mystery night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David rolled his eyes and motioned with his hands for her to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, so I’m having some work done on the cafe. Nothing huge, but now that I own it, I figure I should put my mark on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David sighed loudly with relief. “Oh thank god, Twyla. I was worried you were going to be closing the place down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked confused at that. “Why on earth would I do that? I just bought it!” Her smile perked up again. “I just want to do a little redecorating, make it a little more ‘me.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nodded. “That makes sense. Who’s helping you with the aesthetics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick tuned out the rest of the conversation, his heart racing. He looked at the parallel lines of tape on the ground. It looked like it was marking out where walls might go. And if he was right, one wall would go straight through the booth they were currently sitting in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some kind of sporting event was on the TV. Patrick had his eyes on the game, whatever it was, while David sketched at the other end of the sofa, his perpetually cold toes tucked up under his husband’s leg. Patrick turned his head to look at David, who had a pair of reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. For a moment, Patrick was pretty sure the vigorous erasing and wiping in the sketchpad was going to jiggle the glasses right off his face. Just as they approached the end of his nose, David unconsciously pushed them back up his face and looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He pulled the glasses off his face. He hated that he needed them. No matter how many times Patrick said he liked him. No matter how many times he caught Patrick looking at him like a goddamn heart eyes emoji when he was wearing them. He hated them. But alas, he could see his sketchbook much more clearly with them on, so he dealt with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha working on?” Patrick asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a mood board for the cafe.” He turned the sketchbook towards Patrick. “I told Twyla I’d help with some of the creative decisions about the cafe. She doesn’t want to change it too much, unfortunately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick teased, “oh, so no sand and stone color palette for the cafe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David harrumphed. “As if. That would be totally the wrong look for that place. Especially since she’s not taking ‘Tropical’ off the name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only kidding, David. You’re the expert on this kind of thing. I just…” he trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David raised one eyebrow. “Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just hate the thought of the cafe changing so much. It’s where we had our first date…” David suppressed a grin at that and raised his other eyebrow instead, “where you threw my birthday party,” and at this, David’s face softened, all amusement fleeing. He closed the sketchbook and wriggled down the sofa to be closer to his husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder and waited for him to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just makes me sad to think of all of that changing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too, honey. But picture this…” David stretched his arms in front of him, making an imaginary picture frame with his hands. “No duct tape getting stuck to your pants as you slide into a booth. No mustard stains on the baseboards. And menus you can open without putting someone’s eye out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those do sound enticing. Especially the menus. Does that mean she’s taking some things off of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David scoffed. “I highly doubt it. She said something about getting them wirebound so I imagine they’re going to end up looking more like an Applebee’s menu. But at least our eyes will be safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your eyes are protected by those glasses, David.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon! I barely need these!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>+++</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days later, David stopped by the cafe before heading over to the store to open up. Patrick would be in after his weekly hike. Twyla greeted David at the counter with his coffee, and while he probably should have been embarrassed that he was so predictable, he had a hard time mustering up the energy to care. It’s not like it was the most unusual thing about him, he thought, glancing down at his outfit with approval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his sketchbook out of his bag and opened it to the pages he’d been working on the other night. He turned the book so Twyla could see what he’d drawn. The black and white checked floors remained (those would never go out of style, David insisted) but the tables and chairs and counter stools were replaced by more modern but comfortable pieces. The curtains would have to be burned, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasped in delight. “David, I love this! The colors are just what I was hoping for. But,” and she paused here. David’s heart sank. “I’ve been talking to Ronnie and I think we’re going to take the redecorating a bit further.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at his sketch of the restaurant, bright and airy and (most importantly) clean and elegant, but with the same basic layout with booths along the side. His ideas didn’t involve changing any of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, no more booths?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twyla shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think we’ll probably still have some, but they might be in a different part of the room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David stood up and turned and looked at "his" booth. Twyla’s eyes followed his. He felt her hand on his shoulder, comforting. “It’s not going to be right away,” she said. “The demo probably won’t start for a month or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David quickly wiped away the wetness that had started to pool in his eyes. George must have been cutting onions in the back or something. “Well, let me know what I can do to help, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twyla beamed at David. “I will. I still want you to help me make it look good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled weakly at her and turned towards the door to go open his store. Why were his eyes still watering? Allergies, probably. And now he was sniffling too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had pulled himself together by the time Patrick made it into the store, all hiked out and freshly showered. Nevertheless, Patrick could tell something was wrong. It’s not like David was in any way capable of keeping his emotions off his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David didn’t even bother waiting for Patrick to wheedle it out of him. “I was at the cafe earlier to show Twyla my sketches. She said they’re going to completely gut the inside of the place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick’s face fell. “I was afraid of that,” he said softly. He was standing at the middle table, straightening up the colognes half-heartedly. He continued for a few moments before walking into the back room and sitting on the love seat heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David settled next to him, his sweet, tender-hearted husband. He gently tucked Patrick close to him, putting an arm around him and running his hand through Patrick’s still-damp curls. “I know,” he said cheerlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat there in silence for a few more moments, until they heard the bell over the door jingling. Patrick hopped up to get it, scrubbing his face with his hands before walking out into the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, the customer didn’t need any help, so he had a few extra moments to will the redness out of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few weeks went by, and David and Twyla were spending more and more time together in the mornings and evenings, polishing up the final designs for the cafe before the demolition started. Patrick wasn’t upset about all of the time David was spending on it, not exactly. He was always happy to have a little time to himself, to go to the batting cages or work on new songs on his guitar to surprise David with. It was knowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>David was working on that made him a bit melancholy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair had taken to eating at the cafe more often than usual. They didn’t talk about why, but each knew why the other wanted to. They just didn’t feel the need to put it into words. Instead, they’d sit in their booth and play footsie under their table, while Patrick memorized how the duct tape looked in the corner of “David’s” seat and David tried once and for all to figure out what was scratched into the wood paneling next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David and Patrick were closing up the store the evening before the demo was slated to start. The tables and chairs had all been taken out of the building (“hopefully to be burned,” according to David) so Patrick was surprised when David pulled him across the street to the cafe instead of to their car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick started to press his face against the glass to give the cafe’s old decor one final look when David pulled him firmly against him and opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafe was dark inside, but only for a few moments. Strings of lanterns that were draped around the room came to life, casting a warm glow around the empty floor. David pulled out his phone and fumbled with it for a few moments, until a song came on, playing from a speaker sitting on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick looked up at David in wonder as he wound his arms around his waist. David could see the question but also the answer in Patrick’s eyes as he pulled him close and they began to sway to the familiar song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, David,” Patrick murmured against his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David hummed back. “That’s not it.” After the song ended, he led Patrick over to their booth. It was the only booth that still had a cushion on it, the others having been stripped earlier that day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David slid into his side of the booth, knowing exactly what to do to avoid snags to his sweaters. Patrick sat down next to him, which was not how they usually sat. (“We aren’t riding a bus, Patrick.”) On the table were several containers of food along with two plates and some silverware. A chilled bottle of champagne and two flutes were lined up, waiting to be poured. (No raisins anywhere, Patrick noted with relief.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David carefully started serving food from the containers onto the plates. Patrick watched wide-eyed as David carefully served up beef tenderloin and lobster and salad. It all looked very familiar, and certainly unlike anything the cafe served.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David, what is this? How…” his voice trailed off as he noticed tears rolling down David’s face. He reached over to wipe one off with his thumb before it dripped onto a plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In exchange for helping Twyla, she said we could have one last meal at the cafe before the renovations.” David’s eyes were shining, but he was smiling. He sniffed. “And last week I called Penelope, and, well, okay, I couldn’t get the wood-fired pizza, but I thought this would be a nice final meal to have together before…” David’s words were stopped by Patrick’s lips. He melted into the kiss and then pushed Patrick gently away. “This has already been reheated once, so we need to eat while it’s still warm."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick laughed gently, overwhelmed. The food was as delicious as he remembered. (Not that he remembered, if he was being honest. It was all kind of a blur. But it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span>.) He and David ate and reminisced and toasted with the sparkling wine, and said goodbye to the booth they’d made so many memories in. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on <a href="https://sweatersinthesummer.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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